Face Your Demons
by unicorntopiapoop
Summary: (SYOT: Open) "So, what's your idea for this year's Hunger Games?" "Demons." "Huh?" "Demons. No one will be safe from their own demons in the arena. No one will be safe from themselves. May the odds be ever in their favor."
1. Prologue

"Hi, I'd like to see Gregory Ross please."

"Name?"

"Evaline Ross."

"Visitor or relative?"

"Relative."

"Here's the keys. He's in Room 105."

The young woman took the dangling keys and headed off. Her heels clicked against the barren hospital's floor, her posture and presence emitting an aura of insecure power. The whole room shifted so that it seemingly straightened itself out as she walked past it. An anxious smile crawled onto her face, as she fiddled with the essence of what she was about to do.

 _Down the hall and to the left._

Taking a split-second to arrange herself in the mirror - pushing up her glasses, glazing over another layer of lip gloss, making sure not a single strand of her thin hair was out of place - Evaline took a heavy breath in. She slowly released the stress pushing down on her frail figure and headed inside her father's room.

It was a lavish room, painted a light blue in honor of her late mother. On the walls hung pictures of Evaline and her sibling's youthful prime. A strand of lights was strung across the ceiling, as elder furniture contained stories that only members of the Ross family tree could ever know. In the corner of his room, a vase was drowning in water, a vase whom she had given him from her visit prior. There were ivory elephant statues and original artworks and piles of books scattered across the room. There were golden trimmings and the latest technological works and everything the Capitol could ever give. They spared no expense to give her father the room he deserved. She sighed. The room felt alien, foreign, and an unearthly feeling formed in her gut. They painted the room to make it seem alive, but to her, it only seemed to hold a rotten scent of a corpse.

Her father slept in a bed fit for a king. A shroud of velvet sheets was draped over his resting body. His lips were pursed, and his broad frame was rolled on his side, facing the direction of a phantom wife. Evaline walked over and gripped her father's pale hand, caressing the veins and scars lacing it. She fluffed the pillow that he lied on, and ruffled his hair, just as he used to do to her. As she gazed down at the still vegetable her father had become, she silently prayed for him to be soon freed from the tangle of wires and machinery he found himself caught in.

No matter how magnificent the size or the quality, nothing would ever be good enough for her dear father.

At the pinnacle of his career, her father was the head game maker of the games. Every year, he would spend hours at the expense of sleep to masterfully create a visionary arena. Every year, he would lead his army of game makers and entertain millions in Panem. But most importantly, every year, he would take her inside the control room and let her watch the behind the scenes magic that unfolded. It was her favorite tradition. She would grip his hand tightly, smile up at him, and he would hoist her on his shoulders as she squealed like a little piglet. For a moment then, she would forget about all of her troubles.

For a period in her lifetime, it seemed as though everything would continue to spiral upwards indefinitely.

It happened after the eleventh Hunger Games, the sixth one her father led. She had just started an apprenticeship in her father's course of work, and everything was seemingly going well for her. With enough luck, she would soon be able to join the game makers and be right alongside her father, bringing honor to her family just as her elder siblings had.

She would never forget the eve of the Crowning Ceremony. One moment, the game makers and herself were celebrating yet another victorious Hunger Games. The next, she looks back and sees her father on the floor, eyes rolled over, paler than the moonlight which disappeared on that fateful night. She plunged into hysterics, screaming at her father to stay alive, to continue fighting just as he always taught her to.

He had been plagued with an unidentifiable disease, sworn to be bedridden for the rest of his days. She hasn't been able to speak to him since that eve of last year. On the few days she _did_ get to visit him, he was at rest like he always was.

Evaline walked over to the collection of photographs on the dresser. In one, her older brother stood outside the opening of his company "Theodore Industries". His company grew to be one of the most successful businesses the Capitol has ever seen, and he grew to be the richest businessman the Capitol has ever seen. She shifted her attention to another photograph. It was one of her older sister walking her first runaway show. Her sister was the darling of the Capitol, and everywhere she looked there were admirers and fans of her modeling work.

Where did the leave Evaline? What had she grown to become? She was still toddling in her father's footsteps.

"Mom was right," Evaline muttered to herself, "I'm not as successful as my siblings." Her mother always appreciated her siblings more, calling them the honor of the family. Calling them her children, as if Evaline didn't even exist. She never noticed that it was her who cleaned the house. She never noticed that it was her who behaved in school. She would never think that it would be her to visit father, unlike her siblings who were too preoccupied with work to even notice his illness.

However, Evaline was still in an internship, still yet to discover who she was in her late twenties. It was a competitive world out there, and she was on the lower side of the spectrum.

"I'm not as successful as my siblings," Evaline said, gears turning in her eyes as she glanced over at her father, "But I can be."

Days prior, she had received a call for an opportunity. She could be her father's substitute until he recovered as the head game maker of the twelveth Hunger Games. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, one she had been waiting for since the start of her work at the Capitol. She waited for days to respond, wondering how her father would react. After the confirmation, she ran straight to the hospital where she was now.

It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

She flipped through the cream-colored folder citing her father's progress in the hospital. About how his vitals were stabilizing after a year. About how he opened his eyes a week ago. About how he might wake up soon.

The sound of the heart monitor pounded in her ears, louder than her own heartbeat. She held her father tightly, kissing him on the cheek how she always did when she came home from school as a child.

It was the opportunity of a lifetime...

And she wasn't going to miss out on it.

The heart rate monitor stilled.

Her father's eyes rolled back.

Her prayers had been answered.

A single tear escaped her eye as she left the room, clicking heels emitting sirens against the barren hospital's floor.

* * *

 **That turned out darker than expected, whoa. I'm actually kind of happy that it turned out the way it did, minus the suck-ish ending. Anyways, for those who don't know me, hi. My name is unicorntopiapoop, and I really, really like SYOT stories. I've recently been getting back into them and the Hunger Games series. So, I've decided to make my own SYOT.**

 **Just a little heads up, you will be learning more about the map and what makes this SYOT story unique in the future. I'll just be letting you know now that my OC, Evaline, will be heavily involved with your tributes. That's just how the story is going to flow. Some tributes will appear to be more prominent than others because that's just how I write. If you submit a character, I will usually write them how I see them as, rather than how you see them as. Maybe it's just me, but I tend to like seeing surprises with the characters I submit, so be prepared to be surprised as to how your character will pan out in this story. However, if there is something you really want or don't want to happen with your character, be sure to write it in the additional notes category of the form.**

 **Speaking of which, without further ado, let's head into the SYOT form. Make sure to be as detailed as possible, and I really want realistic but unique characters. That means no Gary-Stus or Mary-Sues, and no Peetas or Katinesses. If you send one to me, I have every right to deny a character or alter one (however you are allowed to critique my portrayal or complain about it, and I do listen to critiques as I am but a novice writer).**

SYOT Form

(This was inspired by SilverflowerXRavenpaw's form in her story "Trapped: The 18th Hunger Games-SYOT-Closed". Make sure to check it out!)

Name:  
Age:  
District:  
Gender:

Backstory:  
Family:  
Friends:  
Pets?:

Personality:  
Strengths:  
Weaknesses:

Appearance (must include race, height, frame, hair/eye color/descriptions, and anything else you want to add):  
Token:  
Reaping Outfit:  
Interview Outfit:

Reaping Reaction (I will alter the reaping scene however I see fit, but I just need to see how your character will react to their reaping):  
Training Plan (must include what they show to the game-makers, and what they do during stations):  
Interview Plan:  
Games Plan:

Allies (Yes or no):  
Enemies (Yes or no):  
Romantic Relationship (Yes or no):

Additional information:

 **And there you go! The sooner I get submissions, the better. I would like to get either District One down right away so that I can start writing as quickly as possible. That's all for now. Signing off!**


	2. Tribute List and Sponsoring System

**Greetings everyone! I have already received some submissions for tributes, and I'm really quite glad about that. Hopefully, the sooner I get tributes in, the sooner I can start writing. Anyways, this is the only chapter that won't have real writing in it, and that's because it's a tribute list for your reference. During the course of this fiction, this tribute list will hold the tribute's names, age, district, gender, and user (as well as in the future their status of whether they're alive or dead). So, here's our tribute list:**

Tribute List

*To those who reserved tributes: Make sure to get them in as soon as possible! Otherwise, I'll give the spot away.

District One

Male: Mica Lucidum, 18 ( _upsettomcat42)_

Female: Amanda Snow, 18 ( _calebbeers21)_

District Two

Male: Ares Hardy, 18 ( _calebbeers21)_

Female: Raven Castello, 17 ( _ell_ )

District Three

Male: Felix Swenson, 18 ( _ImaginationStories_ )

Female: Meredith Dryden, 15 ( _ImaginationStories_ )

District Four

Male: Gideon Verne, 18 ( _upsettomcat42)_

Female: Sabrina Tidal, 17 ( _Nightcat_ )

District Five

Male: Ryan Matthews, 17 ( _Greywolf44_ )

Female: Aphrodite Erdon, 17 ( _HollieJG)_

District Six

Male:

Female: Senna Fiore, 13 ( _upsettomcat42_ )

District Seven

Male: Rollan Cristo, 18 ( _ImaginationStories_ )

Female: Laurel Woods, 17 ( _Nightcat_ )

District Eight

Male:

Female: _Reserved for Annabeth-TheTributeThatLived_

District Nine

Male: Ben Sengress, 15 ( _Tribute00)_

Female: Josie Villatoro, 16 ( _PrincessReySkywalker_ )

District Ten

Male: Priapus Oxcleft, 16 ( _later . glader)_

Female: Emma Silvers, 14 ( _Nightcat_ )

District Eleven

Male: Sigmar Whitney, 15 ( _upsettomcat42_ )

Female: Sorghum Frez, 15 ( _HoppsHungerfan_ )

District Twelve

Male: Levi Coalester, 16 ( _Christoph Andretti)_

Female: Prudence Marston, 17 ( _Imagination Stories_ )

 **So, that's our tribute list.**

 **Now, onto our sponsor system. To be honest, I really didn't want this to be a part of my story, but I figured why not? I should give at least one another thing that makes this an interactive story, and makes it seem a bit more like the Hunger Games. Now, here's my number one rule for the sponsor system:**

 **You can't sponsor your own tribute. That's it. Now, with guests, I'm trusting you won't try and change your username to lie to me. Otherwise, it wouldn't be as enjoyable. In every SYOT story, people just end up sponsoring their own tribute and don't bother to consider the others. Now, I'm changing this. This way, people get to vote for tributes they enjoy, and it'll be fun to see which tributes get what.**

 **With points, I'm trusting people to keep track of their own. Please, don't fib and make up points. I don't have time to check, but I can probably guess if you have over ten thousand points, something is wrong. Now, the points system goes something like this.**

 **+500 for every tribute you submit**

 **+200 for every review (I love reviews)**

 **+50 for a follow**

 **+75 for a favorite**

 **+75 for a favorite author**

 **+50 for a followed author**

 **And with these points, you can buy:**

 **Water supply (100 points)**

 **Food (small amount is 50 points, large amount is 150 points)**

 **Tent (500 points)**

 **Fire-making kit (500 points)**

 **Rope (200 points)**

 **Bow and arrow (750 points)**

 **Dagger (500 points)**

 **Spear (500 points)**

 **Clothing (fit to the conditions) (750 points)**

 **Medicine (800 points)**

 **First aid kit (800 points)**

 **Snare (750 points)**

 **Blanket (200 points)**

 **I'll add more as I come up with more, but you get the idea. Contact me through PMs or reviews telling me which item (also how many points that item is), and how many points you have, as well as who you are sending it to. That's all for the sponsoring system, and I'm truly excited to start. Please, submit more tributes. I'll accept as many as I can. Signing off!**


	3. District One Female - Amanda Snow

District One Female: Amanda Snow

The young vixen arranged herself in the mirror of the locker room, tieing her glossy hair, the color of coal, back into a sleek ponytail. She pouted her lip out, using a makeup wipe to clear off the leftover residue of the faded liner. Removing her t-shirt, she's left with nothing but her training uniform on, the fuchsia jumpsuit contrasting against her pale skin tone. She cleared off the black eyeliner from underneath her eyelid, leaving nothing her her naked, cruel eyes. Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she left the locker room and headed into the gymnasium - a high ceiling, drab-walled, room with training equipment to match the very Capitol. Madame Dyer's Female Training Academy was only for the best, and Amanda knew she was the best of the best.

"Greetings Miss. Snow." Madame Dyer stated, beckoning for Amanda to approach her. Amanda winced. Madame Dyer was a seemingly fragile person, with scrawny arms that hung loose skin and her face withering away like a prune. However, behind the lack of sharpness was the mind of a strict woman, the mind of a president in the making. Amanda usually never saw Madame Dyer, except on days like this.

On days before the Reaping.

"Hello, Madame," Amanda replied, shifting her eyes so that she wasn't staring at her headmaster's crumbling teeth or her conspicuous mole. Dyer frowned at Amanda's unusual behavior, shrugging it off and assuming that it must have been her nerves. She hesitated before speaking.

"Your scores were impeccable this year. There was only one other student who can possibly match them," Amanda glowered at the thought of someone on her level, "Which means I will pit you against her later today." Amanda's eyes widened in protest.

"Miss-"

"No ifs, ands, or buts. Go off and start your training. I'll call you in after breakfast." Madame Dyer walked off to her other students, prepared to score them harshly. Amanda stomped off in the opposite direction. There's no way anyone here could match her. She looked around assessing her competition.

Jane Valencia was over by the climbing station. She was fast and agile, having the ability to change direction and stealth at a mere moment's notice. Amanda shook her head, Jane was not her competitor. She had horrendous aim, and couldn't hit a target within a 100-meter radius.

Then there was Cecilia Black by the combat station. She watched as Cecilia overpowered her opponent and flipped her over. Cecilia was intelligent, sure, brilliant even. But she wasn't attentive enough, which left room for error. Amanda watched as her opponent overpowered her, and the genius was on the ground with a groan.

 _No one was good enough._

Amanda stopped herself. She couldn't worry, not today. She headed over to the knife-throwing station, her personal favorite.

She watched as an amateur 14-year-old threw only four knives in 15 seconds. _She barely hit the target,_ Amanda thought to herself, _her position and accuracy is completely off. It's not really the best of the best anymore, now is it?_

She grabbed four knives off the rack, gripping two in each palm, feeling how right they felt, how they were just another extension of her fingers. The 14-year-old threw a look towards her, nervously shaking under the taller teen's influence.

Amanda threw four knives in two seconds, each one hitting the dead center of the target, each one thrown with such precision and beauty. The younger girl gaped at the sight, running off to gossip with her friends about getting so close to a protégée.

After another hour or two of training, going from spear-throwing to gymnastics, she headed off to breakfast, catching up with her friends Cecilia and Jane.

"So, Amanda, are you ready for the Reaping?" Jane asks, plopping down on the seat next to her.

"Me? I'm always ready for anything, even if it is the Reaping."

"I heard the Madame is going to choose who's going to be a Career in this year's game right after breakfast." Cecilia says excitedly. Careers were a very new idea implemented right after the 7th Hunger Games when a boy named Connor (from District 2) volunteered and won the Hunger Games. From then on, people in Districts 1, 2, and 4 all decided to follow his lead and volunteer in order to bring honor to their district, henceforth labeling themselves the "Careers".

Amanda was vying for that spot. Her mother had sworn to her that if she did not get it, there would be severe repercussions. She was 18, it was her last chance. She had to become a victor this year, or else there would be no other chance.

"Hopefully it's going to be me."

"Hopefully? Of course it's going to be you! No one else would possibly go against you." Cecilia exclaimed, and Amanda just took a bite of her protein bar in response.

"Well, she could be worried about her sister volunteering," Jane added, directing it towards Cecilia. She turns to Amanda. "It's her first year in the Reaping, isn't it?" She scoffs, cocking an eyebrow at the idiotic statement her friend just made.

"Artemis? Please, my mom just started allowing her to watch the Games last year. Her volunteering? That's rich." It was true, her mother always placed pressure on her to win the Hunger Games, to be the fighter. Artemis was taught to be another pretty face, to marry a nice man and gain riches and honor for the family. Amanda never had that opportunity. Her face fell thinking about it. She quickly covered it up, not wanting to show weakness.

"Well, I don't know about that. Remember the victor, Mags, from last year? She won off of eating nuts, and she was a tiny little thing. Size and age don't really matter. It's about the mind."

The girls conversed about the Reapings for a while, until the bell echoed across the Gathering Hall. The girls headed back to training, where they were stopped by an announcement in the midst of being made.

"-And so, this year's finalists for the spot as a volunteer is Amanda and Zoe. They will be sparring in order to see who will be the winner and take home glory to our district." Madame Dyer announces, bringing the pair forward and placing a hand on their shoulders. Amanda examines Zoe from head to toe, taking in her muscular, dark frame, balled up fists, and the glare in her eyes. The glare directed at her. Amanda wasn't scared in the slightest and sought to prove that by sliding into the ring.

Her mother, a coach at the academy, walked up to her and placed a set of sparring gloves in her hands, a look of intensity in her eyes. Zoe didn't scare Amanda, sure, but her mother sure did. Hera was a rare kind of woman, on that everyone stood clear of in District One. Legend has it she helped the Capitol take down the rebels in District One using nothing but her bare hands.

Even Amanda didn't seem to know her own mother. Hera clutched her arm tightly and whispered a singular phrase that left Amanda in a state of confusion.

As the fight started, Amanda landed flat on her back, trusting that her mother knew what she was doing. The initial shock died down soon enough, and Zoe was declared the volunteer of this year's Hunger Games.

"Fantastic job," Amanda's mother told her later while she straightened Amanda's hair. "Once you volunteer in Zoe's stead, you'll be the mystery, the story of the Capitol. If you ensure that all eyes are on you at all times, you should have a guaranteed win." Her mother took in the stunning beauty of her daughter, from the sleek, dark make-up look, to the tight dress that exhibited all of her curves in all of the right places.

"Now," Hera said to her after a breath, "You know what to do."

* * *

She runs around the alleyway, catching up to the frivolous girl.

"Excuse me!" Zoe keeps walking forwards, her curls bouncing with every step. She looks ridiculous, but her dress is adorned with a faux title. "Zoe!" Zoe turns on her heel, snarling at Amanda.

"What do you want?"

"I want to congratulate you on your new title. I figured it would be nice to see the underdog get a chance for once."

"You didn't let me win," Zoe screeches, forcing her hands at her sides to keep from losing control, "I beat you fair and square. It's not my fault you're a weakling." She notices Amanda's peculiar position.

"What's behind your back?" Amanda grins wildly, approaching Zoe, getting closer and closer before she tackles her to the ground, feeling the rush of adrenaline from the fight she never had the chance to have. She pulls out her knife, her favorite one, the one she got on her 12th birthday. Zoe struggles against, fighting to escape her grasp, but Amanda presses her boot against her chest.

Zoe is tall, but Amanda is taller. Zoe is smart, but Amanda is smarter. Zoe is strong, but Amanda is stronger.

Zoe is dead, but Amanda is alive.

The peacekeepers see and don't say a word, sworn to protect the legacy of the highest capitalists.

Cecilia peeks from around the corner, emitting a loud shriek. Amanda looks up, not a trace of blood on her, yet her hands are red with guilt. Her friend runs off, dashing into the Reaping crowd, holding her face in her hands as she sobbed. Amanda gets up and dusts herself off.

None of the events prior have happened, her mother told her. She has just finished prepping herself for the Reaping and is now ready to embrace the ceremony of a lifetime.

The escort, Piper Tamora, plays the video. She gives out the speech that is given every year. She even adorns the speech with her own "special" personal touches. None of it matters, because the only thing that matters, is the silence given after she calls the first name.

"Topaz Kalani." A girl of thirteen doesn't move amongst the crowd because word travels quickly and she's waiting for Zoe. There is a perpetual moment afterward, one of utter silence as the crowd begins to realize that Zoe isn't here. The loose security amongst the district flips through the papers, wondering how they could have missed such a detail. Chatter erupts amongst the children, with wonders of who would be courageous enough to steal her place, should she actually not be here.

"I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" Amanda blows kisses and throws winks at the crowd as she sashays up the stage, already tactically thinking about her future sponsors and potential fans.

"I'M GOING TO BE A VICTOR!"

The crowd erupts into applause. Cecilia silently cries. Her mother cheers.

* * *

After the Reaping, Amanda was thrown into controlled chaos as she was led into a room where she said good-byes to Jane, her mother, her father, and even her younger sister.

Her mother gave her a thumbs-up.

Cecilia didn't even show up.

This went over well with Amanda. She had her mother's approval, and that was all she needed.

She was going to bring home the trophy and come home as a victor.

That was all that mattered.

* * *

 **Alright, so I finally got this chapter up! It took forever, and I think I had severe writer's block for most of it. Anyways, tell me what you think of Miss. Amanda Snow. You like her? You don't like her? You like her but you don't like my portrayal of her? To be honest, she's one of my favorite characters I've received, and though I can't say I'm completely satisfied with my portrayal of her, I can tell she will make for an interesting Games.**

 **Anyways, these are how the chapters are going to go for the starting-off esque chapters. I want to make it so that there are three types of chapters, and four districts (or eight tributes) for every chapter. These three categories for the starting-off chapters (ones like this one, where we introduce the characters before heading into the Capitol) are the Reapings, the Train Rides, and the Arrival. You'll be able to get a more clear idea of what is going to happen later on, but this is just for you guys to know that we won't be continuously getting these long and sometimes tedious Reaping chapters. Tell me what you think of this idea as well, I want this story to be as involved with you all as it possibly can (within reason, of course).**

 **That's all for now. The Tribute List will be updated later tonight. Signing off!**


	4. District One Male - Mica Lucidum

District One Male: Mica Lucidum

 _A baby boy cries out across a packed city center. He screams, lifting his tiny arms and reaching for his family, who stand on a platform overlooking their audience. His mother, Alexandra Lucidum, stands still and tall, holding her husband's hand as well as she could through the thick tassel of ropes imprisoning her from escaping. She is radiant, the epitome of a hero, as her tasseled red hair is blown behind her by the stormy weather above. The wind screeches in protest of her fate._

 _The baby boy catches a glimpse of his father just as a social worker lifts him up, and sees him - Mr. Jasper Lucidum. He is the only one speaking, as he curses the Capitol, curses the war, curses everyone idly watching this event. It's funny how he manages to find his courage now, at the end of the war, at the end of his days, and he finds a voice against everything he has ever known. He flips off the crowd and lifts his head up to face the sky, letting them know that even in death, his family was better than the tyranny to come._

 _Just as the social worker quickly walks away, separating the baby boy from his family, he sees his eleven-year-old sister, Jasper Lucidum, fighting against the ropes that held her back. She looked terrified, but she looked brave. She yelled for Mica, the baby boy, just as she saw him being taken away. She is sobbing, but she doesn't let the Capitol know that it is for her death. She faces the firing squad, the array of rifles dead in the eye, as if to notify them of the family they were about to kill, of the child they were about to orphan. Jasper makes sure that her blood forever stains their hands._

 _The baby boy is sobbing now, as he soon hears a flurry of gunshots play like a chaotic song without a melody, and he hears three bodies hit the floor. His mother was a rebel, and this was her execution. His father and sister were dead simply because of being related to her. And him? He was too young, so he was whisked away to an orphanage, destined to play in the cruel Hunger Games, destined to become what his mother hated._

Mica Lucidum wakes up immediately, panting. He runs his fingers through his messy hair, the long, black strands clinging to his sweaty chest. It was that same dream that's been happening since he was ten-years-old and out of the orphanage. Only this time, it was different. He never heard the gunshots before. He never knew...

He heads down to the training center of the Male Academy. He was one of the few in the residential program, so as the sun just shone through the windows, he was the only one there. Today was the Reaping Day, and he was already selected to volunteer for the Reaping. At first, it felt like an honor, but now there was something else lingering in the back of his mind, a voice whispering that this wasn't right. He simply shook it off as grogginess and a clouded thought, so he ran to the weight-lifting station to clear his head.

He stretched a bit before sitting down at the bench press, letting out a slow breath of air and feeling the weight directly above him. He was a quiet person in general, but everything around him was constant noise, the constant pressure for perfection and for manliness. When he lifted, everything was quiet, like him. Everything was just how he liked it, there were none of the trainers shouting at him to continue going, there were no girls gawking at his body. It was just him and the weights, and from afar, it was almost as if his family were still there.

When he was younger, he was a scrawny child, uncommon in a place like District One. His rib cage could be seen through his uniform, and his chicken legs were the subject of the ridicules and taunts of his bullies. He bulked up during his teenage years, after moving out of the orphanage, but sometimes he is that young boy without a family, without riches. Sometimes he is the young boy being called a rat from his own teachers. That wasn't perfection, and so he lifted another weight.

It would be another half-hour before others would come swarming in, teenage boys hooting and hollering like the heathens their fathers raised them to be. Mica sighed, dropping his weight and heading to the locker room. He promised Rose that he would meet up with her before the Reaping, anyways.

He quickly changes out of his training uniform - which consisted of a tank top and gym shorts - in favor of a white button-down with black pants. The locker room smells of sweaty pits and overdone cologne, and the sight of boys coming into the locker room encourages Mica to leave as soon as possible. After arranging his belt, he puts on his tattered dress shoes in a hurry. He couldn't be late to meet with Rose.

He runs out of the training center and towards the small park at the edge of the city, the one with the Cherry Blossom trees and the ivy growing on the old cobblestone fountain. Rose looks up, her green eyes glistening as she jumps into his arms and hugs him tightly. Mica giggles at the sight of his girlfriend's affections, and nestles into her arms a bit more. They release each other, and sit down side by side, as they watch them set up the tall Reaping stadium a mile further.

"You're late. You haven't been sleeping in again, right?" Rose teases, poking him jokingly.

"Ha, ha, ha. You're hilarious," Mica states dryly, keeping a straight face. However, he knew that on the inside, he was grinning from ear to ear. Rose was the only person Mica could trust, so she knew everything about him. Ever since they met on Co-Ed Night (a night where both males and females from their respected academies join together in the city center and spar, train, or mingle), the two have been inseparable, eventually coming into a romantic relationship. Mica was quiet, and Rose allowed him to open up. Rose was giddy, and Mica allowed for her to become serious where it counted. So, she knew about his sleeping problems, about his past, about how he was going to volunteer. In return, Mica knew about Rose's missing father, about her sister's glorious life as a victor.

"I can't believe you're volunteering today. It feels like just yesterday you were fifteen and begging your trainer not to."

"Yeah, I remember that day," Mica laughs, "I got into so much trouble. Luckily I've changed since then." Rose places a hand on his chest, snuggling up closer to him.

"You're going to come home to me, as I will when I volunteer next year. I'll come home to you," Rose asserts, and they stay together for what feels like an eternity. Mica gently pushes her light brown hair behind her ear, placing a flower in its place. In his eyes, the flower could match her lilac dress, but could not match Rose's beauty or charm. He wasn't even good enough for Rose. But once he won the Hunger Games, then they would be perfect together. He looks at her once more, kissing her softly on the lips, before getting up to head to the Reaping. Rose stirs from her brief nap, seeing Mica leave with groggy eyes. She reaches out to him.

"Stay," she murmurs, and Mica catches her gaze. He chuckles.

"I have to leave for the Reaping."

"No, silly," Rose says, pushing her body in an upwards sitting position, "Stay alive, for me. Promise me you'll come back home."

Mica runs over, extending his pinky. Rose returns his gesture.

"I promise."

* * *

He watches as Amanda Snow, the brat from the Female Academy, glides over to the stage, blowing kisses at the crowd, confident that she was going to be the victor.

 _That'll be Rose next year, and she'll be ten times as beautiful as Amanda could ever hope to become._

Piper Tamora, the escort for District One, bats her butterfly eyelashes as she reaches for the male name. She pulls it out, looks out into the crowd, and announces the name "Garnet Hue?" She waits for the volunteer to emerge.

Almost immediately, as if it was an instinct, Mica shouts "I VOLUNTEER!" He glares at the others in the crowd, regaining his threatening composure. Once he reaches the stage, he finds Rose who blows a kiss towards him, letting him know that she was going to find him afterward. He shakes hands with Amanda, who winks at him. Revolted, he finalizes the ceremony earlier than expected and walks to the Waiting Room.

A couple of trainers, some friendly acquaintances, and other "friends" came to visit him, patting him on the back, or fist-bumping with him in support. It was all a game for them, someone to root for in the Games. The moment he sees Rose, however, shyly hiding behind the door for them to leave, he dismisses everyone. He swoops her in his arms, kissing her until they're panting and he realizes there's only one minute left.

"I know there isn't much time, but I have to give you this." She holds out a silver ring, and he takes it, trying it on and seeing that it fits him perfectly.

"Is it _that_ kind of ring?" Mica asks, winking at her. She giggles, punching him in the shoulder gently.

"No! It's your token, for you to remember me by." She looks up at him with tears in her eyes, and he can't help but regret everything right there and then. They could have had a wonderful life without all of this. He didn't have to volunteer. He could have-

The clock strikes. The guards rush in, telling them that it was time to go. He rushes to hug her, to hold her in his arms for what could possibly be the last time.

"Promise me," she exclaims, and he holds out his pinky once more, and she returns the favor.

* * *

Somewhere, Evaline Ross watches the District One Reaping unfold. Behind her, she hears her fellow coworkers gush over Amanda and Mica, over who was going to win, over how good-looking and muscular they were, over every petty thing to be told.

Evaline doesn't care about the trivial factors. She studies them both, two possible rebels in their precious Career districts. However, instead of scowling, she smiles.

This would make for an interesting Games.

* * *

 **Sorry for not posting at all last week. Hopefully, this chapter makes up for it. District One, I feel, is cursed, and will forever doom me to rewrite chapters. This document got lost so many times, in the end, this was the result. However, I do like it better than Amanda's, if I am to be honest. Let me know what you think of Mica, and what you think of this chapter. More information about him will be coming soon, rest assured.**

 **Anyways, next up, we have our District Three Female. I'm going to get her up this week, I promise you that. Please, please, please. Help me out here. I have a couple of tribute spots open that I really need submissions for. Users such as upsettomcat, Imagination Stories, and Nightcat have helped me out immensly in this process, and they do deserve quite a bit of credit. I'd like to thank anyone for reviewing, or submitting a tribute because it honestly means so much to me, and the sooner we get this story rolling, the better it gets.**

 **That's all for now. Signing off!**


	5. District Three Female - Meredith Dryden

District Three Female: Meredith Dryden

"What's with the papers?" Kira snorts, hopping over Meredith's backyard fence. Meredith continues to scribble away, immersing herself further and further into the abstract storyline she was creating. Kira peaks over Meredith's bony shoulder, seeing words flying on the page at the speed of light. Kira's rolled her eyes as she soon realized what her friend was writing.

"Really? Another death letter?" Meredith sighs as she closes the document, turning over to see Kira sitting down and propping her feet up on the wooden outdoor table her mother was just able to afford.

"Don't touch the table, Kira. You know my mother will freak," Meredith scolded, furrowing her eyebrows at her rebel of a friend. Kira never did care for the rules of society and such, but as the daughter of societal members of District Three, Meredith had no choice but to follow the standards imposed. She wore long skirts and dressed modestly, often pinning her chestnut locks up so that not a single hair is out of place. She spoke with contained expression, keeping her voice at a quiet volume and kindling her refined personality as to reflect well on her parents.

In a way, the pair were different, from two different backgrounds, two personages that couldn't possibly understand one another. In a way, Kira sparked Meredith's passion for knowledge and spirit. In another way, Meredith allowed for Kira to experience having a family, something the orphan has long since been deprived of.

"Ah yes, the mother you complain about all the time, and yet are writing a death letter to. Why even bother?" Kira asks, dusting her muddy overalls as she gets up.

"You know, today's Reaping Day. If I get reaped, I leave my family forever. We both know I couldn't possibly survive-"

"You could-"

"I _can't._ So, anyways, I just wrote it to tell my parents I love them and stuff. You know this." Ever since Meredith turned the age of twelve, she wrote two individual letters addressed to her mother and father. She would spend days sprawled out across the bed, writing on old soup can labels, deprived of sunlight and plagued with fatigue. Her large, green eyes would follow every word being typed, and she would read every phrase to ensure her parents would know _everything._

While the letters did contain "I love you"s and the traditional affair, there was more to them than what Meredith had told. There was an underlying message, one of freedom and rebellion, that not even Meredith knew was sewn into the seams of the letters. Kira cocked an eyebrow at Meredith, suddenly aware of what her friend was not telling.

"I call bull. There's more to that letter than you're telling." Kira's wild black hair blew behind her, and in short, she looked threatening. Meredith was suddenly reminded of her dishonesty, bowing her head in shame as a force of habit. She fiddled with her feet as she focused her attention on the ground, suddenly finding it very interesting.

"Alright," Meredith states, directing her gaze back towards her darker friend, "I did tell my parents what I had wanted to tell them for so long. That I'm creative and adventurous, and I don't want them to mold me into their perfect daughter. It's probably stupid." Kira snorted, grabbing her friend's hands and looking her in the eye.

"I'm here to tell you that it isn't in the slightest way stupid. Give me the letters, I'll deliver them personally if you get drawn." Meredith smiled a faint smile, handing the letters over to her friend without the slightest hesitation.

"I'm not going to the Reaping, but I'll give it to your parents afterwards. I bet you - you won't even get reaped. You're fifteen. The past three years you never were, so why now?" Meredith agrees with her friend, but she can't help but feel a part of her screeching that something was going to go wrong. She shrugged it off as superstition, but couldn't help clutching to Kira a little tighter.

"MEREDITH! BREAKFAST! NOW!" her father hollers, as Meredith looks over at Kira, signaling her to run. Kira sprints for the fence, jumping over it and heading for the orphanage to ensure no one notices she's late for her breakfast. Meredith looks over at her house, an old cottage on the outskirts of town, and sighs as she walks inside. Her parents are sitting there with a stern expression, shaking their heads as she takes her place at the dining table.

Today's breakfast - porridge. The kind they have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It wasn't always like this, she in fact used to be a member of the richest family in town. She used to have meals with only the freshest eggs, and the fattiest pork they could find. She used to eat off of fine china, and drink from glass imported from the Capitol itself. That was back when the Dryden family meant success. Now she was a Dryden - a stupid bum who couldn't hold a job if their life depended on it. She was a member of the poorest family in town, a pauper of the peasants.

This occurred after the factory incident, an event her family never talks about. Her father worked in Telsa's Techs, a company which manufactures Capitol technology for the Games themselves. It was an esteemed job and her father was promoted to one of the highest positions available. Her mother was proud, and she was beaming from ear to ear. On the first day of the job, there was an error, a glitch caused by some rebels hacking into the mainframe. Her father was an intelligent man, but even he didn't know how to shut it down. After doing everything he could, the system broke down, destroying tens to thousands of technological wonders, making the company lose millions. He was immediately fired, and no company would ever hire him again.

There was no room for error in District Three.

From then on, her parents relied on her to rework the family legacy and build them up to be the novelty they once were. It was a lot of pressure, as they did whatever they could to ensure that she was perfect. They made her into an intelligent, respectful young woman during her classes. They made her petite and obedient for the men of the district. Most of all, she had to be on time for everything. Time was an important factor of District Three, as that was what divided the higher class members from the lower class members through their mannerisms. Now, she was late to breakfast on Reaping Day.

Now, she was late to breakfast on Reaping Day.

"Meredith Connie Dryden! How dare you be late to a family breakfast!" her father exclaims, grabbing her wrist tightly. Meredith winces as his nails dig into her skin, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her mother coaxes her father into releasing her, before turning over to Meredith. It felt as though her mother's eyes were burning a hole through her soul.

She wasn't afraid of her father. Her father relied on physical force to get Meredith into doing what he wanted her to, but it wasn't very effective. He was a short and stocky man, and his face puffed up when he yelled. It was almost like watching a cartoon character get angry on television, where their heads would bounce off their necks and turn a bright, tomato red. She would go as far as to say she had to stifle a laugh when getting "disciplined" by her father.

Her mother, however, was a different story. Her mother was tall and slender, with a consistent dark look in her eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a bun, and she wore outfits that created a monster instead of a mother. She was pale, and veins protruded her skin, giving her a greenish tint. It seemed to Meredith that her mother was the witch, from the elder fairytales told by her teachers of long, long ago. To say Meredith was afraid of her mother would be an understatement. She was petrified.

"Meredith, my dear, do quickly eat up." The hairs on the back of Meredith's neck stood up as she heard her mother's croaking voice. She did as she was told, eating the bowl of porridge in fast, delicate bites. She waited for the storm, for what her mother would do to punish her for her tardiness. In between bites, she would risk a glance at her mother, who seemed quite content with her own porridge.

"Today's Reaping Day, honey," Meredith's mother states, placing a hand on Meredith's shoulder, "We have a special surprise for you."

"You do?" Meredith asks, her voice sounding as a mouse would. It was timid, and she hated herself for being so weak and feeble against her own mother.

"Yes, a truly wonderful one," her mother explains, getting up and reaching into a plastic bag. She pulls out a dress, a dark blue one with sparks woven into the fabric. representing her district of technology.

"It's your reaping dress. We saved up and had it hand-tailored just for you. Isn't it beautiful?" Meredith was stunned, to say the least, but was pulled out of her daze immediately.

"I-it is. Thank you." Her mother hands her the dress, allowing Meredith into the bathroom to put it on.

She looks into the mirror and sees a girl who isn't a Dryden. She sees a Victor, one with stunning lashes and curls upon curls of chestnut hair all free from the bun. She sees the dark blue fabric contrasting with her pale skin, and she sees beauty.

For once, she's excited for the Reaping, wishing that Kira would be around to see the lovely dress.

* * *

Her "friend" Danielle beckons her over to the first line of 15-year-olds. It's not enough to see the stage, fully, but it's as close as one her age could get.

"Oh my gosh, Meredith, you're, like, so pretty today," Danielle states, but there's an undertone in her voice, almost like that of a backhanded compliment. Danielle is her rich "friend", a blonde who is stunning in every way possible. Her father could very well possibly be the next mayor. Their parents put the two together because it looked well or the two. Imagine, Meredith, hanging out with an upper-class member. Imagine, Danielle, helping out the dim-witted poor. The two look great for newspaper stories.

It was all a facade, however, a farce. The two in actuality despised one another, one too pushy and one too liberal. They stand off in opposite directions, both waiting for the Reaping to begin.

Orange Blossom is their escort this year, the one with big hair and dyed skin. Meredith could tell she hated District Three, from the bored drawl in her voice.

After introductions, it came time to announce the tributes representing their district. For once, Meredith was relaxed, knowing that she wouldn't be picked. She could not hear the voice in the back of her head.

Orange Blossom's footsteps echo across the auditorium, and she picks a name from the bowl. Slowly, she makes her way back over to the microphone as the entire audience is captivated, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"And the female tribute for the 12th Annual Hunger Games is...

"...

"...

"...

"Meredith Dryden." A shriek emerges from the girl, as everyone else gasps. Her heart is pounding, and she looks over at her parents, the ones who are actually _smiling_.

It's happening. This is it.

* * *

Her mother's clicking heels echoed against the floor, and her father's watch ticked at a constant rate. In her ears, they boomed as the cannons did during the Games. There were wicked smiles painted across her parent's faces, as they enveloped her into a massive hug, loosening up from their traditional values and shrieking from pure excitement. In her eyes, her mother and father had just put on their molding gloves and were ready to build her into the warriors from District One, ready to have her play the part they never had the chance to. She could already see the clay remains of her beloved spark cling to the floor below her.

"Oh honey," her mother exclaims, grabbing hold of her chin and squeezing it tight, "We're so proud of you." Her father smiled in agreement, and suddenly Meredith felt closed in, too close to her parents, too close to her eventual demise, her eventual failure. Her mother reached into her bag and pulled out something that Meredith couldn't quite pin down. It shimmered between the knuckles of her fist, screaming the stories of a pretty, pretty Dryden.

Her father forcefully opened her palms, whom Meredith hadn't realized were trapped in a fisted hand that clung to her side. Her mother then placed the "thing" in her hand, making sure it was secure within her grasp. The 15-year-old took a second to look at the "thing", which was a token. It was in the shape of a star, perfectly pointed with stunning metal work. From within, the star sparkled and reminded of when her mother used to wear the pendant, of before the factory incident, where her family lost everything. She understood now, this was the chance for her family to regain her fame, for her mother and father to be happy again. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of failure, at the thought of her mother sobbing over her remains.

She had previously thought that she couldn't possibly win the Hunger Games, that it just wasn't possible. However, at the prospect of her family's happiness being regained, at them finely living a lavish lifestyle again, she felt a drive. She planted two kisses on both of their cheeks and told her goodbyes. Her father spun on his heel and left the room, but her mother looked back at her, a dark expression on her skeletal face.

"By the way, someone who calls themselves your friend was trying to get in. I think her name was...'Kira' or something," her mother said, shifting her eyes over towards Meredith, "Don't worry about it, though. I had her arrested. Can you imagine, skipping the Reaping and now wanting to get into a government building? No one like that can get in your way. In fact, no one will be getting in your way _ever again_." Just like that, her mother left, her nose turned up in the air, a cackle unheard. Meredith was stunned. Even though her mother had played the innocent act, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Meredith was dragged to the train with vomit churning in her stomach, and shouts of protest lodged in her throat.

* * *

 **Whoa! Sorry I haven't updated in forever. I was recently hospitalized and got out like a week ago. It was a pretty intense couple of weeks, but I'm back, and I'm hoping to stay back for a while. I have a busy week ahead of me (I have to perform in a musical for five nights), but I will be updating so you'll get to see our lovely District Three male.**

 **My brain is still a little scrambled, so my apologies if there were ever any peculiar moments during this chapter. However, I'm for once content with the ending and am glad of what I could do with this chapter. Meredith is one of the few tributes that I have no idea what's going to happen next. Most tributes I'm able to immediately see a future for them, but Meredith is one who I'm not sure how she'll die, or if she has a possibility of becoming the victor. What did you guys think of her? What did you guys like? What do you guys predict? Anyways, that's all for now. See you in a couple of days! Signing off!**

 **P.S. (If anyone has ever done a quick change in theatre, do you have any tips? I have four changes in the entire show, and half of them are quick changes, one having to be done in under two minutes, so I need some help. So far, I've been late for my cue 4/7 times we practiced it, if that gives you an idea of my desperate need for advice.)**


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